Twisted: Sovereigns Abroad
by SapphireKrowe
Summary: Jasmine must keep her father's business afloat - and in order do to so, she will take passengers on the merchant ship "Dauntless" into the wilds of uncharted waters of the the sea and discover strange new worlds.
1. Chapter 1

Every thursday. Please review, comment and favorite. I hope you like it!

* * *

The funeral wasn't supposed to take that long, but Jafar's eulogy was beyond measure. He couldn't contain his happiness, and even though his words were poetically dreary; the corners of his eyes were ever so slightly crinkled. It had rained for three days and everyone had absorbed the sullen mood of the weather. Had they been paying attention, they would have noticed his particular inflection on the words _accident_ and _tragedy_ and _future_.

Jasmine noticed. It had been her father after all. The weather could no longer change her mood, as it was in a state of permanent fury. She nodded the condolences away, hoping the guests had passed her indifference for grief. Maybe her indifference was grief. She didn't think it mattered. Her father was gone.

Wet grass did not do well with heels, and she almost slipped a number of times. It seemed as if all her decisions were coming into question by her own conscience. You shouldn't have worn heels, she said to herself. You shouldn't have been away for three years. You shouldn't have argued with him as often. You shouldn't have bought an expensive coffin. Shouldn't. Shouldn't. Shouldn't.

"I know this is not the appropriate time or place," Jafar was saying somewhere far away, a plate of cold turkey in his hands. Somehow she had gotten to the reception. She didn't remember it happening. Where had he gotten the turkey, she wondered. Jasmine eyed his plate with an empty hunger that came from eating too much. Everyone had been giving her food since her father died. Somehow they thought it would make her feel better. She had lost weight instead.

"Jasmine?" She blinked to the present, and Jafar huffed with indignation. "Did you listen to a word I said?"

She frowned. "Obviously not."

"I'm offering to buy your father's business."

Alas, here it was. The reason the illustrious Mayor had deigned himself worthy enough to speak at her father's funeral. Jasmine had been waiting for this moment. Somehow it still came at a shock to hear him say the words aloud.

"I was thinking of taking over, actually," she said.

He raised his brows high into his forehead, as if his incredulous face would make her change her mind.

"That might not be wise," he said. "Sailing with your father does not make you an expert in his trade, it would serve you well to sell his business to someone more apt in those matters."

_Someone like me._ His eyebrows said.

Jasmine prepared herself to knock him square in the jaw. How dare he, she thought. At my father's funeral too. She heard his name called before she had a chance to follow though.

"Think about it," he said. "I'll stop by on Monday with the paperwork."

When he turned his back she felt herself relax, not knowing that she had tensed up her shoulders. She glanced forlornly at her plate of half eaten grapes.

Selling the business might actually be the best course of action. Who was she kidding? She didn't know anything about her father's business. Her memories were of the sea in her hair, and the wind in the sails. They were of her bare feet running about in the main deck of the ship, almost getting trampled by the seamen while her head buzzed with rum in her blood. Her father's bellowing laugh. His kind face. They were happy memories of a happy childhood. Nothing of business and finance and paperwork.

"Jas!" said a voice in her ear. "Come back to earth, Jas."

She turned, and for the first time in weeks she smiled. The face she met and the man she hugged was her best friend since forever, her only companion.

"Al," she said, her face bright. "I thought you were stuck in the house."

"I can get out for special occasions," he said, laughing. A few people looked over, as if he had broken the unspoken code of funerals, as if he had offended them, never mind to whom he was speaking. "Terrible party. We should bail."

"I'd love to," she said, but they both knew she wouldn't.

"You, allright?" he said, his dark hair falling over his eyes. She looked out to the crowd, staring at nothing.

"No. You?"

"Doc says I've got about a month," he said. He never stopped smiling, knowing that was what Jasmine needed, knowing the hushed whispers were annoying her, knowing that she wanted to scream. He knew. He always knew.

"Stupid influenza," she muttered, and threw a grape at the dog.

"Yeah." He picked up a grape from her plate and ate it, and she felt guilty for all the waste.

"You should do things you want," she said with sudden fervor. "Eat chocolate, explore the woods, swim in the sea, get married."

He raised a brow in question. "You wanna marry me?"

"You asking?"

He laughed. "I just did."

"Wouldn't that shock everyone, right after my father died."

"And then your husband. People might think you had a thing."

They would have, if she did. They would have said she was too young to have found happiness and lost it so quickly, never mind that her father had been her greatest joy. But she didn't. She was too busy thinking of ways she might somehow avoid Jafar's proposal. She was too worried that she lost her father, and would soon lose her best friend. She was stuck in knowing there was nothing left.


	2. Chapter 2

Every thursday. Please review, comment and favorite. I hope you like it!

* * *

Jasmine spent Sunday under her bed sheets, too tired to cry, trying not to think of the inevitable. Time passed, regardless of her pain, and soon Monday had arrived. Forcing herself from bed, she phoned Cindy, letting her one friend know she was still alive, and dressed herself for work. She visited Al who, though bedridden, was still laughing at every joke. In the marketplace she bought breakfast in her father's favorite bread shop. She hated the taste.

Sometime after dawn she wandered into her father's old offices and though her heart could not have been squeezed any tighter, she cried fresh tears. The door to his rooms jimmied open, and she laughed. He had always been meaning to fix it.

The golden clock her father had purchased from the western borders ticked in the silence by the frosted window, and the scroll from the Amiyan desert displayed in its' glass case read the same old runes. All around her, her father's history aligned the walls and shelves and desks. All the places he had visited, many of them with her.

Jasmine remembered the ruins of Gerthrem, where she had almost broken her arm jumping from the ship's bow. She remembered the great city of Rheyadh, where she had lost her shoe and found a friend and sister. She remembered where the desert of Pthan met the waters of the ocean, one of the most beautiful sights she had seen. She had cried then too.

She sunk into his chair smelling the scent of cinnamon, and before long, hours had passed, and she had not moved at all.

Promptly at nine in the morning, someone knocked on the door.

Jafar.

Jasmine sighed, knowing her face was swollen with tears, that it would give away her answer, too tired to care.

"Come in."

"Are these the offices of Sul Tan?" said a deep gruff voice. Jasmine looked up from her father's letters.

The man she gaped at was most certainly not Jafar. He was shorter than the Mayor; though technically everyone was shorter than him. His shoulders were wide and his gaze was bold, and immediately she knew he did not know of her father's death. His eyes lacked pity.

"Jasmine Tan. I'm his daughter." She managed to say the words without choking on them. Perhaps she was too puzzled to let the rawness of her emotions bleed through.

"Phillip." He bowed. "Will he be in today?"

"No. It's just me." Jasmine blinked, wishing she could answer otherwise.

"Ah." He shuffled in his place and readjusted his poise. "I am looking to commission his vessel. I am told he can grant me safe passage among the dark waters of the Meridian. Provided of course, that he is paid."

For a moment of uncomfortable silence, they both stared.

"He's dead."

Immediately she cursed herself for saying so. Before her stood the perfect opportunity - she would be free of Jafar's grip if she took on clients. If she could follow through, of course. Her father had always said the hardest part was procuring clients – and here had been one right in front of her.

"My condolences," he said, bowing again.

"I am tired of condolences," she muttered. Perhaps she was being rude, but perhaps a stranger might be the perfect outlet for her anger. Jasmine leaned over her chair and pulled a glass bottle of her father's whiskey from a hidden drawer.

Her guest's eyes registered no change, but she saw his shoulders tense.

"Drinking will only muddle things for a while," he said. "It will not remove his memory. Or the loss."

"I suppose so," she said, hoping it was true. She needed muddleness, whatever it was. Her own pain was too sharp.

"Lady Tan, you don't want to go down that road."

"You cannot possibly know what I want!" She hadn't meant to shout, but days of people she had barely known telling her what she should do and how she should act had made her fuse short. She downed a glass, welcoming the burning sensation down her throat. "So let's trade, eh?"

He understood.

"I will be frank," he said, sitting down in the chair across from her. He only glanced at her hands as she poured a second drink now, but she paid him no mind. "I need safe passage to the Forest of Jength, and I am prepared to pay handsomely for it."

"Jength?" Jasmine said, recalling old memories. "You'd have to be a fool to go there.

"Or a madman. So I've been told," he said with a curt nod. "But I am a rich madman. And I can pay far above the regular price."

Jasmine narrowed her eyes. "What kind of rich madman?"

"The kind that has nowhere else to go," he said.

Jasmine stared at him, her mind whirring with calculations.

"We'd have to depart in at least week."

"My accompaniment is in Perft," he said, his eyes alight with hope. He obviously thought she had accepted the commission. "We'd meet you there in two weeks."

"Is this a two way trip?"

He paused. "I hope so, should I survive."

Jasmine slid out from her father's chair marched to the door. "I will not have men on a suicide mission on my ship. Just because you have no care for your life does not mean that I will jeopardize my crew. Thank you for stopping by."

He tilted his head, curious, but Jasmine was proud of herself for denying him. And to call the Dauntless her ship felt good. Nevermind that it would not be her ship for much longer.

"I meant no disrespect," he said, palms out. "I mean that my journey beyond your passage into the Forest of Jength will likely be perilous. I may not return. No harm should come to you and your crew." He smiled. "None beyond the regular that comes with seafaring."

Jasmine did not appreciate his joke and he twisted his face into a grim smile. She motioned for the door again.

"I _am_ determined," he said lifting his chin. "So much so that I am willing to die for my cause."

"Death only brings trouble to those around you," she said, lost in thought. Perhaps it was his pained expression that she recognized, but her hesitation gave him a window to speak.

"Lady Tan, I am very rich, and very desperate; the perfect combination of madness. You only have to ask yourself one question," he said, a subtle anger in his voice. "What do _you_ want?"


	3. Chapter 3

Every thursday. Please review, comment and favorite. I hope you like it!

* * *

This was stupid. This was beyond stupid. This plan was completely ridiculous. Yet here she was, at Kocoum's door. She had rushed out of the office and told the good rich madman to sit down, and please make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back with a decision, and just don't touch anything. She had left his bewildered look inside her father's office and replaced it with her own.

What was she _doing?_ What was she even considering? Why, of all places had she ended up on Kocoum's door?

She had made a mad dash through town, stopping only to catch her breath and perhaps wobble a bit before she would pick up her pace again. Perhaps it had not been such a good idea to drink so much so early in the morning. But then again, she'd never expected to be running. And a bit of alcohol wouldn't stop her from doing so.

Apparently, Kocoum's door could. As soon as she saw it, her nerves froze her to the spot. The large frame of mahogany stood there simply, unadorned and stately, as if begging her to dare beyond her means.

_Knock_, it said. _He'll tell you exactly how possible it is. _And it was right. The thoughts she was entertaining in her mind weren't possible.

Kocoum had been her father's most trusted advisor, the quartermaster of his ship. He had been in charge of everything from rationing the payments of the crew, to keeping them in order when things got rough, to the rationing of food itself. He would be kind when it suited the interest of the crew, and merciless when deemed appropriate. He always had an explanation, and answer, a rational next step. He father had never trusted anyone more.

And so he had been like an odd uncle to Jasmine. One that would not indulge her in her fantasies when she had been young and restless. Her father would laugh and wave her fancies off, but not Kocoum. He would always tell her the truth; _No Jasmine, jumping from the high mast into the water will likely break your legs. No, Jasmine, we cannot make the journey back if we stay here an extra week for the ball. No, Jasmine, we cannot live on rum and bread, go back to market. _He was always reasonable, always cautious. Always careful. Rational.

He would absolutely tell her what could not be done.

It could not be done.

There are rare moments in life where your mind is so lost in it's own misshapen maze that your body is the only thing that can hear its lonely cry for help among the cobwebs of lost trains. Other times, the mind genuinely wants to be lost and the body has to jolt it back to the present. This usually happens with a faint, but since Jasmine was much too sensible and would never tolerate fainting, her body made do with goose bumps and a heavy dose of adrenaline.

It also helped that the shadow of a very large male made only of bulging muscle and permanent scowls crossed over Jasmine's view.

"Will you be standing there all day?" Jasmine turned slowly on the heels of her feet and stared up into one of Kocoum's particularly burning stares. So he hadn't been at home. She made a strangled sound. There'd been no point to knocking at all, no point to hoping at all.

"Never mind," she said with a forced cheerfulness. He crossed his arms. "I thought I had a question for you, but you're clearly busy." He held up a hand.

"First, we eat." And he shuffled the door open with practiced ease and disappeared behind her, into the shadows of his own home. She heard his voice though the darkness. "Come."

Jasmine sighed and gathered up her courage. Maybe it was possible. After all, she didn't even have to open the door. He had opened it for her. Maybe she was making it all too complicated.

She thought of the man still waiting in her father's old offices. He had made it sound so simple, so enchanting. What did she want? He had asked. As if it would have been so simple to acquire it.

She thought of Jafar, with his condescension and his easy offer of escape. If he took the business from her she would have time to mourn. She'd have money to live the rest of her life in peace. She'd even have a distant respectability. Whatever respectability was afforded to merchant's daughters. God, she'd have time to spend with Al.

She brought her hands to fists. This wasn't going to be easy. How could she convince Kocoum of something she couldn't believe herself?

But still, that question burned. What did she want?

She marched through the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Every thursday. Please review, comment and favorite. I hope you like it!

* * *

Jasmine wandered into Kocoum's small cottage, remembering the mild scent of smoke that always permeated his clothing. It was stronger in his home, and, seeing as her father had never let her enter, it came as a surprise. Her eyes smarted.

He gestured to one of his wooden chairs and wandered off into the kitchen, leaving Jasmine to her own devices in his very, very quiet sitting room. Wincing as she sat down, she lowered her head to her hands, begging it to stop swimming.

In the silence that followed, two things happened. The wisp of wild determination that had propelled her to town vanished, leaving a gaping hole of fear where her pluck had been; and her headache worsened.

"Eat." He dropped a plate of spice-scented mutton on her lap. "It will help the alcohol leave you."

Jasmine looked up, curious.

"Your father's favorite whiskey?" he said, crossing his arms and sitting across from her. "I know it well."

Jasmine smiled as her headache allowed, but did not move to eat. He tried keeping his face still, but Jas recognized the dark circles under his eyes. Kocoum sighed.

"You are here because of Jafar," he said, his voice flat.

She nodded, and raised a brow.

"I have not seen you in three years, but you have the same spirit."

"Liar." She tilted her head. When she was a child, he liked to make her believe that he could commune with spirits in order to spook her. It generally had the opposite effect. Eventually, she learned that he was simply very observant.

"He also told me you might be seeking my counsel," he said, shrugging. "Has he offered for the business?"

She nodded again, smiling ruefully.

"I've been told to encourage you to relent."

Jasmine looked down at her plate of mutton and began to eat.

"I don't imagine that you'll want to," he continued. "You be needing John to fix up Dauntless."

"Can you-"

"That might prove difficult."


	5. Chapter 5

Cindy hated getting up in the morning. Without three cups of coffee in her system and a good half hour before she had to be anywhere, she wouldn't function. She was in luck today because Jasmine had phoned her at an ungodly hour to check in, and it had woken her. Running late to her first day on the job would not be a good idea.

Despite the achiness of her muscles, Cindy smiled to herself. The sun shone bright in the sky, her belly was full of food, and there was a brisk wind in the air. Granted, it had rained for many days and the streets were mostly composed of mud, but a puddle was always good for a jump and a laugh.

She sighed. Mr. Tan had always been good for a jump and a laugh. He had been like a father when she had none – though his personality was much closer to a crazy uncle. Him and Jasmine had been her only family for the longest time; she'd almost forgotten what it was like to be alone. Poor Jasmine, she thought, who had never known complete loss. Now the feeling washed over her again, like the tide crashing in as if it had never left.

Cindy knocked on Mr. Smith's door and straightened her shoulders. No use letting old wounds get to her, she had somebody to take care of. She heard an angry mutter from inside and tried the door handle, discovering it to be open.

"Mr. Smith?" She called out into the motel room. "I've come from the – " She stopped short, taking in the dank smell when it hit her with the force of an airship. She gasped. No wonder this was one of the most hated jobs in the agency.

Cindy stepped in cautiously, not wanting to disturb the fragile strings that must have kept the room together, not wanting to break the delicate silence that hung in the air. She clicked a light on. She noted the walls peeled away from themselves, revealing layers of old paint from decades past. Pulling her shirt over her nose to muffle the smell, she walked further in, weaving around the clothes littered on the floor.

There was a crash and Cindy tensed.

She knew this sound. She knew this sound too well. And how could she be so forgetful? The scent was unmistakable. Her breath started to get away from her, to gather itself up in short gasps accompanying the thrumming of her heart. She wrapped her arms around herself. The black spots on the edge of her vision crept closer to center, and echoes of faraway horror sung in her ears.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Breathe.

There.

Better?

She heard another crash and jumped, but kept her breath at a steady pace.

"Mr. Smith?" she whispered.

"Oi!" said a faint voice from a back room. She stepped softly over to the end of the motel room, jumping over small mountains of clothes, bottles, food and odd objects she couldn't place. Cindy grabbed the roll of trash bags from her back pocket and unfolded one.

"Got to go to the old man's funeral." He stepped into the light, his broad shoulders draped with what Cindy could only identify as an old black suit. Though it radiated a pale grey of dust now. His shaggy hair was tied back in some semblance of order, but his eyes were rimmed with red. Cindy could tell he hadn't slept properly in a while. Either that or he was drunk. Likely both.

"That was on Friday, Mr. Smith," she said, her face impassive. Se disguised the shaking of her hands by shaking the plastic bag open. "Today is Monday."

A flicker of irritation graced his angular features, and he downed his drink.

"I know what day it damn well is. Who are you?"

For a second she lost all of her certainty. The panic rose up in her throat. What was she doing here? He'd get drunk, and then take one look at her and –

No. She needed this job.

"My name is Cindy," she said with a brilliant smile and pointed to her nametag. "I'm from the agency, you asked for a maid?"

For a second she saw him return to the present, take stock of the chaos in his room, and smile self-consciously before frowning. "All this?"

"It's what I _live_ for."

Hopefully he was lost in the seas of his drunkenness to catch on to her sarcasm. The panic often removed her filters instead of raising them, as it should. It had often gotten her in trouble. He collapsed onto the couch, so sighed with the relief that she assumed correctly.

Cindy made her way over to the kitchen, wondering how exactly the other girls had even managed to get themselves through the door. She started picking up old food, knowing that was the easiest bet to get rid of the smell. And as soon as she could find the alcohol, that would go too. The stench alone would not be worth the pay. Cindy allowed herself a smile; it's why she always got the frightening jobs. She'd been through worse.

A few old bottles of whiskey lay by the refrigerator, and she tried not to bump into them, tried not to make them clink. It was the clinking. That's what would always start everything – he'd drop a bottle on the floor and –

"You Jas' friend?" Mr. Smith said from his sprawled state on the sofa. She saw one blue eye open, sizing her up.

Cindy recognized this look. "Yes Mr. Smith."

"Bet the girl can't do anything now that her daddy's dead."

For a moment, Cindy froze, recognizing the tone. She swallowed again.

"Mr. Smith, if you will kindly refrain from such comments, I'd appreciate it," she said, running water over the dishes.

Focus.

Don't make him angry.

Dishes. Dishes are simple.

Most of the yuck fell into the trash bag when she pulled it out, but she's have to soak them now. God, how could anyone live like this? She tried not to meet his eyes.

"Besides," Cindy whispered. "She's perfectly capable of breathing without her father's accompaniment."

"I hear there's one of those foreigners in town." He continued, not acknowledging that she had spoken. He picked up a book and laid it open on his head. "Savages."

She let out a breath, knowing that moment had passed. The blades of the ceiling fan echoed in the silence, and the dishes clinked.

"Shall I tell you a story?" Cindy ventured.

"Damn well can't stop you from talking," she heard him mutter.

"Once upon a time, there was a young girl, who wanted to run away from home," she said, moving over to the fridge. "She wanted to escape her horrible family more than anything in the world. So she made a plan to leave. It was all planned out."

"Damn stupid beginning," he interrupted, rolling to the other side of the couch.

"But they found her before she had a chance to escape and whipped her within an inch of her life." She threw old containers in the plastic bag.

He opened one eye and glared at her.

"The End," she said, looking up with a grin.

"The F-"

"Moral of the story – things could always be worse. Jasmine will be just fine."

He stared at her, open-mouthed for a good second before realizing what he was doing.

"I'm going to take a shower," he grumbled, slinking off the bed.

"I'll alert the media." She winced as the barb slipped from her before she could filter it.

But before he could respond, there was a knock at the door. She waved him off and picked up the trash bag. Might as well take the first load out. She opened the door and closed it behind her, breathing in a lungful of fresh air.

"I know the feeling," said a deep voice.

"Oh. Kocoum," Cindy said, startled. "I'm sorry."

"John in?" It was amazing that his frown never moved. Cindy would have to watch him one day to see if he ever changed expressions.

"Drunk," she said with a tight smile. "But here."

"Don't hope for him to change, Miss," he said.

"I know better," she laughed. She walked out into a puddle, but was stopped by Kocoum's hand.

"Jasmine talked to you?" This look she knew very well too. It had been normally worn on Mr Tan's face after Jasmine had gotten herself into trouble. Not the regular sort of trouble either. The "father I'm sorry I might have burned down a building" sort of trouble.

"Has she come up with some ridiculous plan-"

"Absolutely."

"God. That girl."

"It's dangerous out there. Tell her that. She listens to you."

"Sure she does."


End file.
